


Paper Marriage

by BummedOutWriter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Family, Humor, Kid Fic, M/M, Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter), Mpreg, Top Harry, Unspeakable Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 04:14:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17073272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BummedOutWriter/pseuds/BummedOutWriter
Summary: Harry nearly flinched. “Problem” could mean any number of things, from them both being fired for magical fraud, to him and Malfoy having to be in close quarters for an extended period of time in some weird magical bonding.





	Paper Marriage

Harry felt god-awful. He wasn’t sure he should have been drinking, but he refused to break his Friday evening ritual. It was the only time he really got to be with Ron and Hermione anymore. “Harry Malfoy-Potter,” he said in a hushed whisper as he leaned towards the goblin. Harry was terribly embarrassed of his surname, but mainly just his spouse.

“Blimey,” said Ron, standing beside him at the Gringotts counter. The redhead had no sense of privacy, having grown up with six siblings and all. “Sometimes I forget you’re married.”

“Only technically,” Harry said as he scribbled his signature, then accepted the purse of gold coins Bogrod handed over. He sent Ron a moue of discouragement as he stuffed it into his robes.

Unfortunately for Harry, the topic was revisited the moment the two met up with Hermione at the Hog’s Head.

“I do find the arrangement interesting,” she said, giving a smile as Ron passed her a butterbeer.

“I failed the final Auror test,” Harry said. “The magical coat glowed purple when I put it on. It meant I was rejected for not having ‘anything to lose.’” He made air quotes.

“You had _us_ ,” Ron protested.

“Which is what I told Robarbs!” Harry assured with renewed indignation. “But it wasn’t enough, apparently. Malfoy got rejected from the Unspeakables for the same reason, and, well…”

“The ‘arrangement’ was born.” Hermione’s smile broadened.

“You’re practically family to us. You hardly even know that prat!” Ron darkened at the memory of Harry’s unintentional disloyalty. Ron’s feelings of betrayal were put on hold as he took a monstrous bite out of his roast beef sandwich.

“When have magical items ever made sense?” Harry argued.

Hermione wore a pensive expression. “Maybe the coat just knows something you don’t.”

Harry and Ron gave her dubious looks.

After six months of marriage, Harry and Malfoy did not live together, speak to each other, and in fact, had as little interaction as was humanly possible. On the odd occurrences that they did have encounters at the ministry, they treated each other with thinly-veiled contempt.

All things considered, Harry was pretty content with his life. Things had hardly changed since his paper-marriage, and he and Malfoy intended to quietly dissolve it in another six months.

While going through some paperwork in his office one morning, a bright red memo fluttered in, crumpled itself into a ball, then pelted itself against Harry’s head so violently it gave him whiplash. Cursing and clutching the side of his neck, Harry grabbed the memo and smoothed it out.

 _A word?_ It read in Malfoy’s fancy calligraphy.

Still grumbling obscenities, Harry got up and made the five-minute trip to Level 9, marching into Malfoy’s office despite the protests of a floundering secretary.

To Harry’s surprise, Malfoy was fast asleep at his desk, his head cushioned by his arms and a messy pile of paperwork.

“Malfoy!” Harry barked.

Malfoy jolted awake and looked around. As he spotted Harry, his lips curled into a sneer. “No need to shout, Potter.”

“You sent for me,” Harry responded, “literally, six minutes ago.”

“Yes, well, I was just—”

“Sleeping? I already knew you were a lazy, though you seem to have taken it to an entirely new level.”

“Enough!” Malfoy screeched. “I was _not_ sleeping!”

Harry crossed his arms and gave Malfoy a flat look, and Malfoy in turn seethed, looking disheveled and a bit crazed. Finally, when Malfoy seemed just a bit calmer, Harry said, “What is it, then?”

Malfoy shuffled some parchment about on his desk in a way that was entirely pointless. He was paler than usual, had dark circles under his eyes, and for the first time, Harry felt the faintest iota of concern for his temperamental spouse.

“I need you to sign this,” Malfoy drew a paper out from the seemingly disorganized pile, “rescinding any claims you might have on the Malfoy inheritance—objects, accounts, and properties.”

“Gladly.”

Harry took the parchment and grabbed a quill off Malfoy’s desk. As soon he signed the line at the bottom of the page, the parchment disappeared in a poof of smoke, causing Harry to jerk back and nearly fall on his arse. He shot a glance at Malfoy, who didn’t hide his amusement. Harry supposed that meant the minor implosion had been anticipated.

“You can go now,” said Malfoy.

“Right,” Harry growled, pocketing his hands. And before he could stop himself, he blurted out, “Are you okay?”

“Peachy,” Malfoy deadpanned. His attention returned to his messy desk where he began furiously scribbling against scrolls, ostensibly at random.

“It’s just that…well…you look like shit.”

“You have five seconds before I banish you from the wards.”

“Also,” Harry hastily added. “I actually need you to sign something as well.” He pulled a rumpled form out of his robes and slapped it to the desk, atop the scroll Malfoy was working on.

Raising his head, Malfoy shot Harry a quick glare, before his eyes flickered back down. “A departmental transfer?”

“Needs spousal approval,” said Harry, crossing his arms. He noted how Malfoy’s hair was so limp and lackluster compared to usual. “I want to get my hands into the curse-breaking subdivision. It’s more fieldwork but the training is valuable.” Harry paused, not sure why he was explaining himself.

Malfoy leaned back in his chair and contrived a worried look. “Why would I want to put my precious spouse in any more danger than he’s already in with the aurors?”

“Just sign the paper, you tosser.”

But Malfoy merely smirked at him, looking smug, and as the seconds dragged on, Harry’s heart sank, and he wondered whether it wouldn’t look bad if he throttled his colleague (and spouse) while on the job.

Finally, Malfoy signed the form and held it out. Harry snatched it from him with a scowl.

Harry turned to leave, relieved that he wouldn’t have to encounter Malfoy again for at least a few weeks, if he really worked at it, when Malfoy spoke again.

“There’s just the matter of Edward.”

Harry grimaced. “Yeah…”

Andromeda was getting older, and wouldn’t be able to take care of Teddy for much longer. They had been putting it off for a while, but they all needed to sit down and make the necessary arrangements.

“She’s going to miss him terribly,” said Harry.

“We’ll go slowly with things. She can still keep him during the day while we’re at work, and we’ll progress from there. I was thinking that we could alternate weeks? For the first week, he can stay at my apartment, for the second, at Grimmauld, and so on.”

Harry was exhausted just thinking about it, but he had to make it work. “Makes sense,” he stated, back still turned.

“Alright then.”

It was the longest, not to mention, the most reasonable conversation the two of them had had since—ever. Harry mused on that as he walked out the door.

*

For the next week Harry had a low-grade fever and dull headache that seemed to thrum behind his eyes no matter what potions he took. When he got a memo from the minister summoning Harry to his office, Harry didn’t know whether to be grateful for the reprieve from paperwork, or distressed that the disruption would put him even further behind than he already was.

When Harry walked into Kingsley’s office, he was surprised to see that not only Kingsley, but Malfoy was there, the blonde tense in his seat before the desk. The two were perusing a scroll with a gilded heading, a scroll that Harry recognized immediately.

“What’s going on?” he said, dropping into the chair beside Malfoy’s.

Kingsley looked grim. “There appears to be a problem with your marriage contract.”

Harry nearly flinched. “Problem” could mean any number of things, from them both being fired for magical fraud, to him and Malfoy having to be in close quarters for an extended period of time in some weird magical bonding ritual.

“It’s some weird Malfoy curse, isn’t it?” said Harry by instinct. “I knew I shouldn’t have signed that agreement Malfoy gave me last week.”

“This actually came to my attention following your transfer application,” Kingsley apprised.

Malfoy shot Harry a scornful look.

“You two haven’t fulfilled the terms of your marriage contract,” Kingsley continued.

“What do you mean?” said Harry. The two of them had chosen the least-extreme wizarding contract available to them.

“The contract triggered a stipulation on all three relevant family lines—every line at risk of dying, to be specific. The Malfoy, Potter, and Black lines all require a true heir.”

While Harry sat there nonplussed, Malfoy looked as though he was going to be sick.

“But Teddy—”

“Isn’t recognized as a Black heir,” Kingsley cut Harry off. “And that doesn’t even address the matter of the Potter and Malfoy lines.”

“What are you saying?”

Kingsley rubbed his temple. “You might be able to appeal for Edward Lupin’s assignation as the Black heir, but you’re still two kids short. Surely you’re beginning to feel the magical drain by now? Harry, on all your transfer tests, you came up short.”

Harry’s mind was reeling. Magical drain? Heirs? _Children?_ They weren’t even—How were they supposed to—?

“Potter and I are getting a divorce,” Malfoy said shamelessly.

If Kingsley found it odd that Malfoy would address his spouse by his former-surname, he did not mention it. “That is not possible. Not until the contract is fulfilled.”

Malfoy was aghast. “Surely you don’t expect us to—”

“We’re both men!” Harry blurted out.

At the outburst, both Malfoy and Kingsley gave Harry a strange look.

“Perhaps it is time for you two to consult with the staff healer.” Harry started to protest but Kingsley held up his hand. “This is not up for discussion.”

*

“Oh, yes. As you both descend from pureblood lines, the nature of the contract automatically changed,” said Parvati, who was irritatingly cheerful about the whole thing. She was waving her wand over Malfoy in a complex circuit of the same tests she had performed on Harry only a moment earlier. She then tapped a scroll, which began to populate itself with tidy cursive, as though an invisible person was writing rapidly by hand. Parvati lifted the scroll, scanning the text with her eyes. “Your magic will slowly cannibalize itself until the contract is fulfilled. Ooohh, looks like it already started.” She gave them both a commiserating pout and Harry was alarmed.

“I also took the liberty of testing the dynamic of your magic to determine who would be the carrier,” Parvati went on. “Draco, you’re the submissive to Harry’s magic. With most other people, you would have surely been the dominant, but Harry’s really powerful, isn’t he? Well, congrats!”

Malfoy was apoplectic, his fists gripping his robes at his thighs.

Harry tried to maintain a neutral expression. Malfoy was his—his submissive? And they were supposed to… “So Malfoy can have b-babies?” he stammered, still baffled by the concept. Everything was happening so fast.

“He can have _your_ babies,” Parvati responded with a wink.

Malfoy stood so abruptly, Harry and Paravati both jumped.

“Excuse me,” he said, his expression unreadable. With that, he swept off, slamming the door shut so forcefully behind him that several vials quavered on the counter, a few of them tipping over.

Muttering to herself, Parvati began to magically reorder things. Harry continued to stare off, stunned, until Parvati thrust a vial of purple potion into his hand.

“A conception potion,” Parvati answered Harry’s silent question. “Have Draco take it just before intercourse.”

Feeling color creep up to his cheeks, Harry managed a weak nod, pocketed the potion, and fled.

*

Over the next few days, Harry and Malfoy fastidiously ignored each other. In the mornings, Harry darted from the lift to his office, and then back at the end of the day, certain that if he crossed paths with Malfoy, he would die of mortification.

Then came the day when they simply _couldn’t_ avoid each other. Malfoy had to consult with him on a case Harry had been lead auror on. The tension in the room was palpable, both communicating in stilted words. They passed forms aggressively enough to cause injury, and Malfoy wouldn’t even sit down, instead pacing so continuously that it was making Harry dizzy.

“What the hell are you looking at, Potter!?” Malfoy snapped when Harry’s eyes accidentally grazed his hand.

Cheek twitching, Harry lifted his eyes.

Malfoy truly looked like garbage. The shadows under his eyes resembled bruises now, his face wan, and his eyes dull, almost foggy. He even seemed to be trembling a bit. The magical drain had to be worse for him.

Harry swallowed his nerves. “I didn’t—I don’t want—it’s not my fault!” he snapped.

Malfoy tensed, his face contorting, and he looked fully prepared to bitch Harry out. But then he deflated. “We should get back to work,” he said coldly. He was so defeated right then.

“We have to discuss this.”

“No. We don’t.”

Harry’s irritation swelled. He stood. “You’re not well. Neither of us are. I feel like shit. You look like—”

“Shut up.”

“Why don’t you just let me—”

“Let you _what_ , Potter!?”

Harry swallowed. Malfoy had that crazed look of a man with nothing to lose. They couldn’t go on like this. So Harry did the only thing he could think to. He reached into a desk drawer, pulling out the purple vial. “Let’s get this over with,” he challenged, holding it out.

Malfoy was shocked for a moment, then his face darkened with ire. He snatched the vial, and Harry fully expected him to smash it, but instead Malfoy uncorked it and gulped the potion down. He allowed the emptied glass to drop to the floor. As Malfoy stalked towards the desk, Harry took an unconscious step back and fell into his chair.

“Fuck you, Potter,” Malfoy growled as he cornered him there. He climbed onto Harry’s lap and warped his life.

*

It wasn’t for a few weeks that Harry admitted things to Ron and Hermione.

“…and the contract said that we had to—er—conceive, and so we—well—Malfoy was tested as carrier, and…”

His best friends were both goggling at him, Ron’s latest gulp of mead pouring down his chin.

“So you two…conceived?” Hermione asked, her voice squeaking.

“We um…” Harry felt his cheeks heat. “We tried.”

“Did it work?” Ron blurted.

From behind the bar, Aberforth was listening with morbid interest, eavesdropping more blatantly than he usually did.

“I um…I’m not sure.” Harry was disturbed to admit that he was oblivious as to whether he actually had a child on the way. He and Malfoy had not interacted since their coupling in Harry’s office, Harry clenching his jaw, holding Malfoy’s hips, and praying to Merlin that his secretary didn’t decide to pop in.

Just the thought of that horrendous occasion had Harry squirming in his seat, discreetly adjusting himself under the table. “I think he’s…er…avoiding me.” He thought about the way Malfoy pretended not to see him when they passed each other at work, or how Malfoy bribed other Unspeakables to handle joint cases, and even sent Parkinson any time Teddy needed to be picked up or dropped off. “I have been feeling better, though. Magically. Maybe that means…” he trailed off, a little breathless.

Ron and Hermione continued to give him strange, almost terrified, stares. Eventually Ron tried to awkwardly segue into Quidditch conversation, but it just descended into more gawking at Harry.

*

Teddy was a healthy five-year-old metamorphmagus, and generally necessitated more energy than Harry had after a twelve-hour work day.

Harry hated to admit how delightful it was to dump the kid on Malfoy at the end of a long week, but it was nice to have a break, if just for a few days. Harry usually started to miss Teddy on day three and anguish over him on days four through six. On day seven Harry usually descended to tears and lost control of his mental faculties. And if there was for some reason a day eight, well—Harry didn’t even want to think about it.

Harry was happily chopping some carrots in the kitchen when he heard the floo roar. “Teddy, grab your things, Pansy’s—!” He broke off when Malfoy strolled into the room. “Oh.”

Malfoy didn’t respond, he just gave a jerky nod, looking everywhere but at Harry. His arms were crossed, and he was still a bit pale, but he also appeared distinctly healthier than he had the last time Harry had seen him. The shadows under his eyes were gone, replaced by a very faint pinkness that didn’t seem to fade. Harry’s eyes trailed down to Malfoy’s flat midsection, then up again. He knew he should have asked, but found himself avoiding the issue as well. “Er…do you want to stay for dinner?”

“Yes,” said Malfoy too-quickly, and with no sincerity. 

“Oh,” Harry responded, a bit despondently. He had not expected an affirmative response.

Malfoy drew a deep breath and cradled his chin in an odd manner as he finally met Harry’s eyes. “Can I…use your bathroom?” he managed.

“Sure. It’s upstairs on the...” But Malfoy was already storming off. Harry frowned after him. It almost looked like he might be sick. Harry blinked, then swallowed, and poured himself a very-large glass of wine.

“I’m ready!” said Teddy, trampling into the kitchen with bright blue hair to match his backpack.

“Great. You’re staying for dinner. Put that stuff down.”

“What?” Teddy’s eyebrows crossed in a sharp V-shaped angle, even touching in the middle to make him resemble a cartoon villain. Harry couldn’t help chuckling. Teddy wasn’t the biggest fan of his horrible cooking.

“Draco!” said Teddy, as Malfoy returned. The blonde crouched down to sweep Teddy into a hug.

“Why don’t you go play with your toys as Harry and I talk,” Malfoy suggested in an amiable way that Harry hardly ever got to witness.

“Okay…” said Teddy, throwing them a dubious look, before running off to the living room.

Malfoy’s shoulders sagged the moment Teddy left, and Harry could tell that he was knackered, perhaps from a similarly-grueling work shift. Harry dumped the chopped carrots into the cauldron bubbling on the stove and lifted the pot spoon. “Dinner’s going to be—”

“I’m pregnant,” Malfoy cut him off.

The pot spoon clattered to the floor. Harry took a moment to learn how to communicate again. “Right,” he said.

And that was it. That was all Harry could come out with. It was horribly, almost excruciatingly, awkward. Harry went back to cooking in abject fright, because he was going to be a _father_ , and with _Malfoy_ at that.

Malfoy meanwhile sort of just lurked, watching him, as though he suspected Harry would do something strange to the food. Not only that, but Malfoy _hoovered_ over him, following Harry around the kitchen like some deranged shadow. He even trailed Harry all the way upstairs when Harry went to get his wand.

Just when Harry thought he might have a breakdown, Malfoy blurted:  
“I need to be around your magic.”

“What? Oh.” Parvati had said something about that. Then again, Parvati had said a lot of things. Harry was lucky if he had processed even half of it. “We should see a doctor.”

“Already arranged.”

“Are you okay?” Harry couldn’t help asking.

“As well as could be expected,” said Malfoy with a dirty look.

After dinner, Harry retired to the living room couch, and Malfoy followed. Harry turned on the telly. Teddy was dozing off somewhere amongst his mountain of toys. Harry wondered if he was spoiling the kid but then dismissed the thought as ridiculous.

“Are you going to be alright?” said Harry, noticing how close Malfoy was sitting to him.

“Yes. I mean…I think.” And then Malfoy grabbed his hand.

Malfoy’s hand was soft, too soft, indicative of his pampered upbringing. It should have made Harry resent him, but Harry couldn’t help feeling a bit soft, a bit goey inside, at the thought that Malfoy was actually _carrying his child_. It was weird, but sort of good. Harry decided it was a good thing. It wasn’t as though he’d had any other prospects towards parenthood, between his secret marriage and abundant lack of free time. He had imagined there was a lengthy and complicated adoption process somewhere on the horizon, and single parenthood to boot. But now there was Malfoy, and an actual child of their blood. It softened Harry to the prat. It made Harry puddy in his hold.

“You can tell me…if anything’s been going on,” Harry mumbled in guilt. “If you’ve been sick. If you need anything.”

“Shut up Potter,” Malfoy murmured, eyes closed.

They nodded off.

*

When Harry awoke, both Malfoy and Teddy were gone. Harry’s torso was warm, arms tingling, and he had the vague memory of holding Malfoy in his arms, but he wondered if he’d only been imagining it.

*

“I sent Johnson and Stevens out to make the arrest this morning,” Harry called to his secretary as he entered his office. “Update Robarbs. I’ll write up the report.” As Harry shut the door, he jumped at the sight of Malfoy, who had been standing behind it.

“M-Malfoy,” Harry stammered. He hadn’t seen the blonde since he had picked up Teddy three days before.

“It wasn’t enough,” Malfoy groused.

Before Harry could inquire as to what he was talking about, he found himself with an arm full of Malfoy.

 _Bollocks_ , Harry thought.

Malfoy sighed against his shoulder.

They stood there like that, seconds turning to minutes, Malfoy slumped against him in blithe disregard to the awkwardness of Harry’s positon.

“C’mere,” said Harry, gathering some of that rumored Chosen One courage and dragging Malfoy to the desk. He sat down, pulling Malfoy into his lap. Malfoy was a bit heavier than he appeared, but of course, he was, er, pregnant.

Malfoy must have been truly exhausted, because he didn’t even protest. He just curled up and rested his head against Harry’s shoulder to fall asleep so promptly, Harry didn’t know whether to be worried or envious. Harry wound his hand around Malfoy’s waist to keep him in place. With his free hand, Harry grabbed a quill, and got started on his report, doing his best to peer at the scroll over Malfoy’s shoulder, and trying to eschew his habit of sticking his tongue out from the corner of his mouth, lest it keep coming into contact with silky blonde hair, sweet-tasting though it was.

As Harry adjusted Malfoy slightly to reach for another scroll, the door swung open, and Robarbs walked in.

“Er…” said Harry as Robarbs gaped at them. Harry tapped Malfoy’s waist to wake him up.

“Potter,” said Robarbs. “What the—?”

“Malfoy’s pregnant,” Harry blurted out. “We haven’t told anyone yet, but, um…”

“Oh.” Robarbs blinked. “Congratulations are in order, then.”

Malfoy sent Harry a sleepy glare, before pulling himself off his shoulder. “He’s just giving me some magical support. It’s nothing unsavory.”

“Of course, of course,” said Robarbs, clearly pleased.

Malfoy looked nauseous, but Harry couldn’t tell if it was morning sickness or Robarbs’s clear amusement.

“Had I known you were expecting, I certainly would have recommended some leniency with your workload.”

As Harry nodded in agreement, he felt Malfoy tense.

“It’s fine,” Malfoy said firmly.

Robarbs gave an absent nod before regarding them thoughtfully. “It’s good to see some love and unity after the gloom of the war.”

Harry said nothing. He could sense Malfoy’s uneasiness.

Robarbs cleared his throat. “Right, then. Potter, what’s your progress on that report?”

“Already done.” Harry lifted a scroll and handed it over.

“Good work, as always. Please, don’t let me disrupt.” With that he swept off, closing the door behind him.

Malfoy did not return to Harry’s shoulder, instead looking off.

“How are you feeling?”

Malfoy did not respond.

“I want you to come to me any time you need me.”.

“It’s fine, Potter.” Malfoy climbed off his lap. He drew long breaths, his hand hovering over his mouth, before he seemed to teeter over the edge of nausea and hunched down to the trash bin. Harry winced as Malfoy proceeded to violently fall ill.

*

He still couldn’t believe he was having a baby. And with _Potter_. It was like all his nightmares had come to fruition. “I’m...up the duff.”

Blaise and Pansy were shocked.

“With what?” said Pansy stupidly.

“A baby.” Draco grinded his teeth.

“Who knocked you up?” said Blaise.

“My husband,” Draco forced out.

“But I thought it was a paper marriage?”

“Yes well, now we’re having a paper-baby.”

“So that’s why you’ve been gaining weight,” noted Pansy.

“I have not gained weight!” Draco flushed in exasperation and poured himself a glass of wine.

Blaise cleared his throat. “The sprog.”

“Right.” Draco allowed Blaise to take the glass for himself.

“From the beginning then?”

Sitting in the couple’s kitchen, Draco told his friends the story of his child’s conception, excluding embarrassing details, such as his “submissive” title, the inconvenient cuddling, as well as the actual conception, which he actually _would_ have gotten into were it not for Blaise’s loud, rattling, bubonic plague-eque cough every time he started.

“The worst part is that Potter disgusts me. I’m not even remotely attracted to him. He has the sex-appeal of a moldy carrot.” Draco, ironically, sucked the tip of a carrot into his mouth. He took it out and shamelessly double-dipped it into Pansy’s fresh container of cream cheese.

Pansy wrinkled her nose at the display. “Potter has his charm.”

Draco munched and swallowed. “And his hair, what if the baby has his hair?” He shuddered, hardly paying heed to Pansy’s remarks.

“Surely he has some redeeming qualities,” Blaise drawled, mirroring Pansy’s queer expression.

“Potter’s gotten fit since he joined the aurors,” Pansy insisted. “You said it yourself the other da—”

“He’s a troll!” Draco screeched. “Useless, obnoxious, annoying…” Draco got up and pulled a container of ketchup out of the refrigerator, to his friends’ mutual alarm. He struggled with the cap. “I’m going to get _fat_.”

“I hate to break it to you darling—”

“This was a productive conversation,” Blaise cut her off as he stole some zucchini from Draco’s disorderly pile of phallic vegetables.

*

“He’s a genuinely horrible person,” Harry mentioned over his drink. “Some people say that ironically, but I’m being earnest. Once I saw him assaulting a pixie. A pixie I tell you!”

Ron gave Harry an unenviable look as Hermione blinked owlishly over her firewhiskey.

“Weren’t you two going to try to work things out? For the child?” she asked.

“Not bloody likely,” Harry grumbled. “It’s not as though Malfoy’s hideous or anything…the opposite, really.” Harry felt his face warm. “But I could never be attracted to him. He’s just too—evil. Like, blatantly evil. No subtly at all.” Harry gave a plaintive sigh.

“Sorry, mate,” said Ron, in a disproportionally mild response to Harry’s being sentenced to a loveless marriage, but then, Ron’s chips had just arrived.

Harry stopped the waiter before he could go. “Some water? And crackers?” The waiter nodded and left.

“Harry, is there anything we can do at all?” Hermione implored.

Harry trailed his finger down the condensation that had formed on his glass. “Not that I can think of. I suppose I’ll just…suffer, I guess.” He gave a brave little smile and wondered if he was destined to perpetually be a martyr.

When Malfoy arrived at the pub, Harry waved and beckoned him towards the free chair in a resigned sort of flop of his arm. Malfoy gracefully sat down and accepted the glass of water Harry pushed his way. Discreetly, Harry slid his hand behind Malfoy’s back, and slipped his fingers beneath the hem of his shirt to rest against the skin there.

Malfoy’s skin was warm, almost too warm, but Parvati had mentioned something about that as well. Malfoy shivered slightly then gingerly tucked into the crackers as he gave Ron and Hermione wary looks, not saying anything, which was at least an improvement on his typical contemptuous behavior.

“Well, hi Draco.” Hermione at least attempted to be polite.

“Granger.”

Hermione gave several emphatic coughs and even nudged Ron with her elbow several times with increasing violence.

“Ow! Hey Malfoy,” Ron droned.

“Weasle.”

“I hear you’re preggers.”

Malfoy glared and said nothing.

Harry sent his friends a miserable look before shifting the conversation to safer subjects than his fake marriage.

*

Harry and Malfoy continued to live apart but now saw each other a lot more often. Harry tried to check in on Malfoy throughout the work day, and Malfoy was learning to (grudgingly) reach out to Harry when he needed contact. During multi-departmental meetings, Harry would sit beside Malfoy and rest his hand on his knee, despite their colleagues’ suspicions glances and Terry Boot’s bulging eyeballs. Still, Harry was concerned that it just wasn’t enough.

Despite his efforts to hide it, Malfoy was continually fatigued, and Harry was trying to figure out how to breech the idea of spending time together outside of work.

Harry even began to develop some apprehension about his own work routine, particularly during field work, stake-outs, and raids that ran outside of work hours, sometimes into the following day. It was one such occasion.

“Potter, it’s three in the morning,” Malfoy said hoarsely when he answered the floo. He looked veritably miserable.

“I just wanted to make sure you were alright,” said Harry. He himself was exhausted, but he didn’t want to think about how Malfoy was dealing with the magical drain.

There was a long pause, Malfoy pressing his lips, seeming uneasy.

“I’m coming through,” said Harry firmly.

The fact that Malfoy didn’t protest was cause for further concern. When Harry stumbled out of the floo into Malfoy’s apartment, he could see that the blonde was shaking and holding onto the wall.

Harry half-dragged, half carried Malfoy to his bed. He hastily divested himself of all but his pants, then climbed in with him.

“Careful,” Malfoy murmured, shifting so Harry was less atop him.

“Take off your clothes,” said Harry wearily. “Parvati says it’s better with skin to skin contact.”

Malfoy answered with an indecipherable mumble. He was already falling asleep.

“Malfoy...” Harry shook him slightly but received no response. He sighed and unbuttoned Malfoy’s nightshirt, at least. Harry didn't reflect on what he saw beneath it. Instead he buried his face in Malfoy’s shoulder and allowed himself to doze off.

*

When Harry awoke the next morning, it took him a moment to remember where he was. He turned to the opposite side of the bed, which was empty now, but warm. He could hear the shower running in the en suite.

Harry sat up and reached over to the nightstand, where he retrieved his glasses. There was a note set beside it. He lifted it and scanned the succinct message with his eyes.

_Get out._

_I hate you._

Harry gave a crooked smile. _Touché._ He climbed out of the bed and rapidly donned his rumpled clothes from the night before. Just as he finished, Malfoy walked out in just a towel.

He looked comfortably refreshed for the first time in a while, no longer wan or dragging himself. Harry couldn’t help noticing that faint flush of Malfoy’s cheeks, the pregnancy-flush; it was actually lovely. Then, automatically, Harry’s gaze lowered to Malfoy’s stomach.

He was flooded with the acute awareness that Malfoy was _growing their child_ in a way that it hadn’t been real before.

“Do you—need anything? If you’re feeling sick, I can—I can make you...” Harry wasn’t sure what he could possibly make but thankfully things didn’t come to that.

“Potter.”

“I’m going.” Harry had been making a conscious effort not to get into fights with Malfoy anymore, at least not for the time being. He left the room, and could hear Teddy’s scuffling movements upstairs. Knowing that he would not be able to explain his presence to the child, Harry started the floo, and went home.

*

At work, Harry immediately requested to be temporarily taken off field work. Robarbs was understanding, and Harry slowly tried to get used to the fact that he would be on desk duty until Draco had this one.

 _This one._ Harry gulped. There would, of course, be another two children to follow. This knowledge was dizzying. Both he and Malfoy were being harshly thrown into parenthood with little preparation.

It was weird to see Malfoy so vulnerable. He was increasingly self-conscious at work, especially in the way he carried himself, often folding his arms over his waist in a way he hardly seemed to notice. Harry was sort of enjoying it, but he managed to keep that to himself. One time Harry saw Malfoy trying to talk his way out of a drink meeting with colleagues, and started to feel bad for him. He still hadn’t told anyone about the pregnancy.

A week after Harry had been taken off field work, he was hosting a meeting with some junior aurors, going over the best defense spells to contain a chaotic firefight and mitigate the risk of casualties. He was just discussing the intricacies of mass-stunning spells when his secretary slipped into the meeting room.

“No rush,” she whispered, as she leaned down to where Harry sat at the head of the table. “But Mr. Malfoy requires you in your office. Once you’re done. _No rush,_ ” she emphasized again.

Harry nearly tripped over his own feet as he stood, dozens of case files fluttering to the floor. He somehow managed to knock over the tea pot, the table, and a file cabinet as he stormed out of the room, several junior aurors staring after him in alarm.

When Harry got to his office, Malfoy was slumped against the wall.

Harry inhaled. “Long day?” he asked smoothly.

Malfoy shot him a scathing look.

With a sigh, Harry pulled out his desk chair, sat down, and patted his thigh.

Malfoy sat in his lap, looking away, so that his back was pressed to Harry’s chest. Harry loosely held his waist to keep him secure. Malfoy fidgeted against him, trying to get comfortable. “Why are you erect?”

Harry reddened. “Why won’t you stop _squirming?_ ”

Malfoy stilled and shook his head. “I want this one to be a Malfoy,” he said suddenly. Though he leaned back and closed his eyes, Harry could sense his tension. “I should have an heir in case y—one of us dies. I’m stuck carrying it, so I should at least be able to—”

“Fine,” said Harry.

Malfoy shut his mouth.

“And ‘m not going to die,” Harry added petulantly.

Malfoy gave a skeptic snort, and Harry didn’t know whether to be amused or appalled.

Malfoy was showing. A little. He was in his fourth month, so it made sense. Harry cupped his belly fondly, allowing his fingers to stroke circles against Malfoy’s robes. He wanted to let Malfoy know that he’d noticed.

Malfoy stiffened in his lap. He ran his hand through his hair and sighed, then leaned back again. Harry knew Malfoy was embarrassed, but Harry thought it was all so miraculous. He smiled into the back of Malfoy’s shoulder as he continued to stroke the small bump. His child wouldn’t be hidden for much longer.

“I refuse to carry the burden of this alone,” said Malfoy.

Harry blinked. “What do you mean?”

Malfoy swallowed. “I’m starting to show. I look like a slag.”

“No you don’t. I—er—“ Harry’s voice grew weaker. “I would never deny the baby.”

“Mm...” Malfoy didn’t seem too impressed. He smoothed his immaculate sleeve.

“S-so what do you propose we do about it?” Harry admittedly did not want to know.

“We have to make it public.”

*

It was their first time playing the part of a married couple, and it was disastrous at best. Harry was surprised by how clearly pregnant Malfoy appeared in the dress robes he was wearing, which were fitted rather than loose like the ones he had taken to wearing at work.

Harry plied himself with champagne mainly to temper his nerves throughout the evening. Ministry functions were anathema to him, and unfortunately enough, he seemed to be the main attraction.

“ _Harry_ tried to cook me dinner for our six-month anniversary.” Malfoy had fallen into snide little anecdotes, disclosing fake-details about Harry fumbling his way through their supposed relationship. “The shephards pie came out raw somehow. It’s such a difficult recipe to botch up, but you know _Harry_. Thankfully he couldn’t convince me to eat it. Not in my condition.” He indicated his abdomen. “But Harry ate the whole thing himself just to make a point. Suffice to say, he was sick all weekend.” Their spectators burst into giggles.

As people ate up the ridiculous stories about him, Harry felt himself growing spiteful.

“Draco’s a riot.” The name rolled off Harry’s tongue in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. “Did you know he can’t grow a beard? Merlin knows he’s tried. I could never convince him that he’d look dreadful with facial hair.” Harry gave his husband a winning smile as yet more sycophants and bureaucrats swarmed around them. “He’s just so elegant and dainty. And now you’re carrying my baby.” Harry kissed his cheek in the most obnoxious way possible, even with reporters taking innumerable snapshots.

Malfoy twitched. “Ironically _Harry_ nearly burnt the house down the very same night of the food poisoning fiasco. Do you remember that, Harry? He set up a hundred candles in our quarters as a surprise for me. It was really sweet and romantic, albeit rather incompetent. But that’s _Harry_.” He continued to say Harry’s name in the cloying vein of a besotted admirer.

“Draco shaves his legs,” Harry piped in. Draco looked appalled. “He—”

“Harry farts in his sleep.” Draco cut him off. “It’s all that asparagus. He has to stay fit for the aurors, you know.”

“Well we can’t all let ourselves go,” Harry heard himself snap.

Malfoy looked horrified. Even their spectators were uneasy. Harry almost started to feel guilty until Malfoy’s expression hardened. “I’m sorry, Harry can’t hold his liquor very well. It doesn’t help in the bedroom I admit—not sure how this one got through.” He sheepishly laid his hand on his stomach and drew more titters from their worshippers.

Harry nearly spat his latest gulp of champagne. He went for a low blow. “I just love watching him grow. Getting round with child—he’s just so adorable. Look how big he’s getting. I mean, look at him, just _look_.”

Malfoy addressed a reporter directly. “His real name is Harold. Harold, I know. I’m not kidding...”

“Every night Draco insists we gaze up at his constellation together. Some might think it narcissistic, but I find it sweet...”

The following morning they were the talk of the town and front page of every wizarding paper.

*

Moving in together was convenient to the magical transfers. They could hardly spend much time apart anyway. They maintained separate rooms as testament to their continued, mutual, disgust for each other. Though, admittedly, most nights were spent in Harry’s.

The children were decided for their houses before they were born, which proved a huge error.

The graceless ginger, Nymphadora Narcissa, was named heir of House Malfoy. The disheveled blonde, Minerva Lily, was named heir of House Potter.

After Minnie’s birth, Draco and Harry fought tirelessly in court to have Teddy named heir Black, mostly to avoid the hassle of having another child. And by some miracle, they won.

Of course, almost immediately afterwards, Draco fell pregnant again.

They hadn’t even known it was possible without the potion. Further, it was awkward to contemplate the behaviors that had led up to it. That sex was a normality in a marriage both swore was fake.

It was even more awkward to disclose the matter to friends and family members. It was accompanied by no explanation, just Harry giving a wry smile and Draco finding interest in the living room wallpaper. After spending three years complaining about having to touch each other, it turned out they did it willingly.

“Anyway,” Harry broke the lingering silence, “thanks for coming, refreshments are on the—”

“Wait,” Hermione cut him off. “You two claim to despise each other. Malfoy, just the other day you said that Harry makes your skin crawl. And Harry, last week you said you wished Buckbeak had finished the job!”

There were awkward coughs. Draco shot Harry a venomous look as the Boy Who Lived appropriately blushed.

“You’ve had us all thinking you were suffering,” Hermione went on. “Meanwhile you were both actively participating in the relationship! And don’t say you’re doing it for the kids. Just admit that you’re a couple! All your domesticity only adds up to one thing. You’re just a dumb boring married couple like the rest of us!” Hermione was positively fuming.

Those gathered looked too scared to move, lest the famed witch start broadcasting their secrets as well.

“It—it’s not like that Hermione,” Harry stuttered. “This isn’t some weird conspiracy. And, okay, sometimes...we...er...like each other.” He reached out and squeezed Draco’s hand despite the blonde’s efforts to squirm away.

The silence returned, even more uncomfortable than before.

“Who wants some wine?” Ron called out, taking pity on the hosts.

As if being released from petrification, everyone shuffled towards the refreshments table in a mixture of desperation and politeness.

Wine would, indeed, be appreciated.

*

The black-haired Severus Sirius was a quiet baby. He had the Potter looks but Draco could somehow tell that he would have the Malfoy cool poise when he was older. Severus would have been the perfect heir for either house, but, of course, those claims had already gone to his sisters.

As Harry walked into the living room, Draco made to get up.

“You know, you don’t have to leave the room every time you nurse,” said Harry dryly. “I’m not gonna faint.”

“Shut up,” Draco spat, feeling heat rise to his face. He sunk back down on the couch as he cradled Sirius against his chest, top shirt buttons undone so the baby could nurse. He idly stroked his son’s back.

Draco wondered if parenthood had made him more laid-back. It certainly necessitated a lot of calm and quiet in the presence of chaos. Potter seemed to have noticed he could get away with a lot more. He often stared at Draco with impunity as he was doing right at that moment.

“Papa.” A four-year old redhead had appeared. She tugged on the leg of Harry’s trousers. “Minnie took my, my Morgana doll,” she mumbled, her eyes teary. Draco feigned unconsciousness.

“Dora, you’re older than her,” Harry reminded, but the red-head began to sob. “Nyphadora, stop it, you’re going to upset the—”

Dora screamed at the top of her lungs and stormed off bawling like a proper heiress. The baby pulled away from Draco and began to whimper. Before Draco could react, Harry quickly reached down, adjusting Severus in his arms so the baby reattached to his nipple.

“Sorry,” Harry said.

Draco just shook his head and glanced in the direction Dora had gone. He could still feel Harry _looking_ , watching him fondly. It wasn’t helping with his self-consciousness. “Sibling rivalry,” Draco mourned.

“It was the same with Dora and Teddy.”

Draco had a newfound understanding of why his parents had stopped at one child.

Both started at a crashing noise upstairs, and their youngest shouting something at her sibling. “Minnie,” Harry called. “Minnie Lily!” He hurried off.

Draco closed his eyes and relaxed further into the couch cushions. The commotion upstairs ceased. After a short while, he could tell that Harry had returned, by the even footfalls, and the pacing. There was a scraping noise, and Draco opened his eyes to see that Harry was moving furniture for some ungodly reason.

“Potter you need to relax,” Draco said.

*

“I—what?” Harry froze midway through wrestling Teddy’s piano to the other side of the room.

“You always get like this,” said Draco irritably.

Abashed, Harry walked over, and gently sat himself on the couch beside the blonde. “I just don’t want to screw this up,” he murmured, frowning at his knees.

Draco was amused. “You can’t do much worse than you’ve been doing with the others.”

Harry’s cheek twitched. “Of course,” he said sardonically.

Severus finished, and Harry reached out in an offer to burp him. Hesitating only briefly, Draco handed the baby over. This was something Draco was working on, these attachment issues after birth. He suffered a tight coil of overprotectiveness that would ease over the next few weeks, but not sooner.

As he buttoned his shirt, Draco continued to gaze at the baby in a longing vein, as though Severus wasn’t a few inches, but miles away. Harry could only describe it as adoration.

“Someone has a favorite,” Harry mentioned. The baby burped.

“I love all my children equally,” said Draco in a perfunctory manner.

Harry couldn’t help but smile. “He looks just like me.”

“Regrettably.”

Harry shook his head as Severus dozed in his arms.

They could have dissolved the contract since almost a year ago. The story had always been that it would be inconvenient to bother. “Draco?”

“Mm?” Draco drew his leg up to flex his ankle. Harry enjoyed his deliberate, cat-like movements. He was pleasantly languid in these days of recovery, the small curve of his abdomen and the slight swelling of his chest the only indication that he had given birth two weeks earlier.

As Draco continued to roll his ankle, Harry thought of how he still rubbed Draco’s feet, and would probably be doing it at that very moment had he not been occupied by their sleeping baby. Odder, there was nothing pragmatic about massaging Draco’s ankles anymore. He was no longer pregnant, and wasn’t even partial to foot-rubs. It was just a routine they had fallen into, like all the others. Their weird, routine relationship. “We’re really married, aren’t we?”

It had been grudging at first, and had given way to resignation with the first pregnancy. But now things were different, and it must have changed quite a while ago. The contract had helped to hide it. Of course, now they were exposed.

Draco shrugged in answer. It was typically anticlimactic of him. Harry felt himself redden, chagrinned. “I mean we—”

Draco kissed him—in a very careful way that was agonizingly deliberate, as he paid heed to the sleeping infant between them. It was a kiss that couldn’t be ridden off to passion, boredom, or arousal. It wasn’t a night-time kiss that would develop into further satisfaction.

The kiss offered simple affection. It made Harry equal parts warm and embarrassed. “Oh,” he managed.

The baby did not stir. They kissed again.


End file.
